


a temporary shelter

by gericault, theonlytwin



Series: i say it will rain on us again [1]
Category: Shichinin no Samurai | Seven Samurai (1954)
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, up to a point
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:16:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23408164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gericault/pseuds/gericault, https://archiveofourown.org/users/theonlytwin/pseuds/theonlytwin
Summary: It is a good night. Already Kyuzo can smell the rain that's coming, but they have time yet to sit by the fires. Much is coming; they have time yet.He tells himself that.
Relationships: Katsushiro/Kikuchiyo/Kyuzo, Kikuchiyo/Kyuzo
Series: i say it will rain on us again [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1710973
Comments: 12
Kudos: 16





	1. Chapter 1

It is a good night. Already Kyuzo can smell the rain that's coming, but they have time yet to sit by the fires. Much is coming; they have time yet.

He tells himself that.

He is walking the perimeter. Kambei says the last bandits will make their assault at dawn, and Kambei has never yet been wrong about anything. They have time yet. Still, it does no harm to keep watch. And to learn the territory with one's feet, again. 

The promise of rain is in the air, and the rich smell of fire, and, at the farthest possible distance, death: piled bodies, five bandits the villagers have not buried yet. The digging of that pit can wait. The farmers have reserved their sweat for the graves of their own, and Gorobei.

All of them smell of sweat now, and Kyuzo smells of blood, which is not new, which has, for two decades and more, been a scent as ordinary to him as sweat and fire and rain, only he found himself sharply aware of it earlier tonight, sitting next to Katsushiro, who was falling asleep, and who smells of flowers. It does not matter that Katsushiro has always smelled of flowers.

The earth rises beneath his feet, lifts him. Here is the ridge, and there are the graves. And there is Kikuchiyo, who smells eternally of sweat and blood and earth and grain and sake and wildness.

He does not wish to see Kikuchiyo.

When he reaches the top of the hill, sandals full of dirt and eyes half blinded by torches, he waits for a moment, taking in a breath of cool air. Kikuchiyo squats, rocking slightly, hand on the heavy jug of sake that Kambei must have brought to him. He swipes at his nose, gestures obscurely to Kyuzo, as if inviting him into his patch of ground.

He sits beside Kikuchiyo, who tips the jug towards him. A gust of sweat and sake rolls off him. Kyuzo shakes his head.

“You sure? Makes things not matter. For a moment.”

He shakes his head again. “I’d rather keep my head clear.”

“I’ll be clear, in the morning. Don’t you worry. I’ve been much drunker than this and fought bigger battles the next day.”

Kyuzo says nothing.

Kikuchiyo sighs dramatically, pushes the sake away, making a little channel in the dirt. “I’ve definitely been drunker, at least.”

“I believe you.”

Kikuchiyo laughs.

It is like being cut. Like being shallowly carved by a blade he was not quick enough to parry or dodge - and it's been years since he was so slow and stupid that he could be caught by anyone's sword, which is why the sensation shocks him. How many years since he made someone laugh? Has he ever?

Kikuchiyo does not seem to notice that Kyuzo's spine has gone rigid, that his heartbeat, which is slow and always the same, has quickened. There is no reason he should notice; it does not matter. He does not wish to see Kikuchiyo. He watches Kikuchiyo flop backwards onto his elbows, stretch his long legs out in front of him.

Kyuzo has always known he could best Kikuchiyo with a sword; he wouldn't win in one stroke, but he would win. Nearly a head taller than Kyuzo, though, broad, fast, powerful, if Kikuchiyo caught him barehanded, what could he do? He has wondered, sometimes. It does not matter. Kyuzo looks away.

They sit, listening to the wind snap the flags, the murmur of the village.

Eventually, Kikuchiyo says, “They weren’t the best fighters. But they were - good. Good at being samurai. Good at being men.”

Kyuzo nods, once. He thinks of their soft, open faces, smiling. And he remembers the slash of terror he felt from throat to chest when Heihachi saw him standing in the doorway of the little rooming house. He was about to be asked who he was, and what he was doing there, and he did not know how to answer. But Heihachi was silent, and let him be silent.

And in the end, Kyuzo never had to tell them all his family name, or lie about it, and he never had to explain why he had come there, because Kikuchiyo crashed drunk through the door and made a ridiculous scene and saved him.

Now with a turn and stretch he could put his hand on Heihachi's grave.

He does not wish to see Kikuchiyo _here_.

“Now it’s just us glum bastards,” Kikuchiyo says.

Kyuzo is shocked into a smile. It’s the fact that he says _us_ as much as the idea that anyone could call Kikuchiyo _glum_. As if to prove it, Kikuchiyo sits up, cackling. “I got you,” he slaps his own thigh. “I broke the stone face.”

Kyuzo sighs, because he’s not wrong. It’s strange how often Kikuchiyo, a liar and a drunk, is not wrong. In fact it's far from the first time he's broken Kyuzo this way. It takes so little for him to make Kyuzo laugh. Does he know that? It does not matter. Kikuchiyo's eyes are bright now, as they were not when Kyuzo walked up the hill to him. It does not matter. It does not matter.

"Damn," Kikuchiyo says. He reaches for the jug. The smell of sake on him is overwhelming, as if he’s been bathing in it; Kyuzo can smell nothing else. Not even blood. "Things are starting to matter again." Kikuchiyo starts to lift the jug to his lips and then pauses. "You're giving me a look. You don't approve of this, huh?" His chin sets petulantly.

"I don't disapprove. I just don't partake."

"You don't partake in much, do you." Kyuzo does not know what that means. Kikuchiyo is looking at him. It is like when Heihachi looked at him, except the fear is worse.

He does not wish to see Kikuchiyo among the dead.

Much is coming tomorrow. A storm, and much blood shed. Tomorrow. To know what is happening _now_ , that is easy; to know what will happen _soon_ , that is essential; to imagine, but not know, what will happen tomorrow-- is cruel. He had been free from this cruelty for so long. To survive this instant and the next, that was what mattered, and then it did not matter, yet he continued to survive, and asked no questions about it, always one hand on his sword, wordless, walking, ready to run. 

Kikuchiyo is looking at him. He looks, and leans forward, and smells strongly of intoxication. Kyuzo does not know what is happening now. He does not know what will happen soon.

“What?” he asks, uncertain as to whether he wants to know the answer.

“You,” Kikuchiyo drops a heavy hand onto Kyuzo’s knee, “are very handsome.”

Kyuzo almost laughs. Kikuchiyo is a terrible liar. Whatever he wants, he should attempt more realistic flattery.

Kikuchiyo keeps leaning. His mouth comes to Kyuzo’s mouth. Their lips meet and part and meet again.

It is not an attack. It is not a threat. His heart, he becomes aware, is racing. 

Kikuchiyo draws back, not far, and inspects his face. 

Kyuzo cannot imagine what he finds there. He feels he has lost control of his body entirely. 

“Never mind,” Kikuchiyo sighs. He pulls his hand back toward himself, but Kyuzo catches him by the wrist, holds him still.

Kikuchiyo raises his eyebrows like a clown. “Do you want to?”

Kyuzo wants to keep Kikuchiyo alive. He wants to keep this small, safe moment alive - to not hurtle into the uncertain future. He keeps his grip on Kikuchiyo’s wrist. His heart is racing too.

Kyuzo pulls Kikuchiyo close again, face turned toward him. He does not know what is happening, but it is not a threat.

***

Kikuchiyo had hated Kyuzo, hates him still a little now, but even when he had hated him, he had wanted to know how he might kiss.

He wonders this about all kinds of people - men, women, old, young - he sees them do something innocuous and imagines, suddenly, whether they might make a lot of noise during sex, or be partial to having their mouth filled, what their skin might taste like or whether they had paticularly sensitive nipples.

An occupational hazard of having traded his body for so long, perhaps.

He had seen Kyuzo and thought - _he’d look good on his knees_. But other things had been happening, and he was very angry at all the moronic, snobby samurai, especially Kyuzo, the most stuck up, stubborn bastard out of all of them. Being angry stopped his imagining, briefly.

It never stopped his _noticing_. People think he is stupid. He notices things, small details, hints, glances, he sees and he has a very good memory. He noticed days before anyone else did that Kyuzo doesn't want to fuck women. 

That led him back into imagination, even while he was still angry; he'd be bored - village life was so damn boring - and in his head he’d shove Kyuzo up against a wall or a tree, trap him and tell him he'd look good on his knees, good on his back. Surely that would take the icy disdain out of the long-lashed eyes, bring some hot blood into the small pale face.

How would Kyuzo kiss? Fiercely, perhaps, fighting him for control, or with cool, infuriating expertise, or maybe he'd just hit Kikuchiyo instead.

He never expected this - innocence.

Kyuzo is hesitant. He barely moves. His hand travels up Kikuchiyo’s arm to his elbow, pulling him further in, but he kisses like a boy, uncertain what to do. When Kikuchiyo slides his tongue along the seam of his lips, he gasps. 

It’s shocking, to shock Kyuzo. 

The inside of his mouth is hot, though, and his hand is hard on Kikuchiyo’s elbow, holding him, awkwardly, close - he wants this - surely if he didn’t he would have stabbed something by now. 

It’s confusing. It’s the most confused Kikuchiyo has been in a while.

He presses his hand to Kyuzo’s waist, pivots in the dirt to put the other hand on the back of his neck, feels him shiver in his grasp - and stops. 

He tips their foreheads together, grins as Kyuzo tries to push his mouth forward to be kissed again. 

“What do you want?” It’s a question he’s asked nearly everyone he’s had sex with, unless they made themselves clear before he asked. It’s a simple enough question, he thinks. 

But stoic, unflappable Kyuzo, who runs at danger - Kyuzo sits there, silent, breathing heavily, frowning, just a little. 

He looks lost. 

It’s unfair, how lost he looks - how someone so adept at killing can look so much like someone who needs protecting.

It begins to rain. 

Kikuchiyo looks up, squinting into the sky. 

When he looks back, Kyuzo has schooled his face - but Kikuchiyo isn’t stupid. Kyuzo is still holding his arm.

“Come on,” he says, rocking up onto his feet, dragging Kyuzo up by the scruff of his neck and the edge of his jacket.

Kyuzo glares at him, shakes him off - but stays close, not stepping back, not making space between them.

Kikuchiyo wants to laugh, but instead he starts down the hill, angling towards one of the grain sheds set in the lee of the wind.

Kyuzo is a step behind, he can tell without looking - as if he can still feel the heat of him, though the rain. 

Rather than go around to the inside, where someone might see them, might wonder what their samurai are doing, Kikuchiyo stops at the back wall, under the eaves, out of the rain, in the dark. 

Kyuzo waits, hands to himself but still close - so Kikuchiyo reaches up, holds his face, and draws him in. When they kiss, this time, Kyuzo isn’t shocked by his tongue, parts his lips and lets him in without hesitation.

All his fantasies of Kyuzo taking control were stupid - this is much better. To have him yield to guidance - have him make a delicate noise when Kikuchiyo slips his hands inside his jacket, to feel the skin of his shoulders - this may be the most erotic thing that’s ever happened to him. 

He wants - he wants everything - all at once - to have Kyuzo naked and open, to have him fucking Kikuchiyo’s mouth, to have him pinned or pinning or - everything, everything. 

But Kyuzo touches, very gently, his bare hip, as though he’s not sure he’s allowed, and Kikuchiyo’s chest hurts with - confusion. 

He strokes a hand along Kyuzo’s stomach, tucks his fingers into Kyuzo’s waistband, tugs it down. 

Kyuzo stops kissing him, then buries his face in Kikuchiyo’s shoulder, and goes still.

 _Oh_ , thinks Kikuchiyo, _it’s his first time_.

This is - this is the first time anyone has touched him like this. 

He’s hard, in his small clothes, and Kikuchiyo’s hand is wet from the rain.

If he stops now - he could stop now but he doesn’t know what would happen. He doesn't want to stop.

He wraps his fingers around Kyuzo’s cock, works it, holding his shoulder still, feeling him breathe against his chest. 

No one knows - no one in the wide world knows what Kyuzo feels like as he falls apart. 

Kikuchiyo kisses his ear and neck, tries to think of something to say. There’s nothing to say. There’s only their bodies. 

He wants - more than he’s wanted anything, in a long time - for this to be good for Kyuzo. For Kyuzo to want to do this again. He doesn’t know why it’s so important to him. It shouldn’t be. They could die tomorrow.

He doesn’t want to die tomorrow.

Kikuchiyo pulls Kyuzo’s mouth back to his, wants to promise him something, everything - kisses him instead. His mouth is still hot, desperate, and Kikuchiyo sucks on his tongue.

He feels Kyuzo spill into his hand, onto his wrist.

He slows the kiss, loosens his grip on Kyuzo, takes a half step back. 

He looks at his hand, and stretches out his arm, into the rain. Kyuzo’s come is washed away.

Kyuzo stands there, eyes shining in the shadows, clothes hanging open. He closes his mouth, carefully. 

Kikuchiyo is struck, suddenly, with the desire to pick him up. To sweep him into his arms, cradle him close, and run, out of this village, away from the bandits and samurai and graves.

He fixes Kyuzo’s clothes - hikes up his waistband, closes his jacket. Kyuzo, finally, re-animates, checking his sword, brushing a hand over his face. 

Kikuchiyo is hard, but he’s pretty sure the moment has passed. 

“Don’t worry about returning it,” he tells Kyuzo, to whom it had clearly not occured. “Until next time?”

This is an opportunity for Kyuzo to spit at his feet and declare Kikuchiyo a whore. 

Kyuzo nods, once. 

***

He steps out into the rain.

Kyuzo has not truly felt rain in years - decades, perhaps. The smell of it, that he's known; the way it makes the ground an enemy, how it soaks the clothes and makes the draw slower, the danger of it, and the ways that danger can be reversed, yes, he's known all that.

The feel of it on his skin, though. Or a dry, cutting wind, or the hot sinking air of midsummer, or the gentleness of snow - none of these touched him, before.

He feels the rain now. It speaks the cold language of the dead.

He looks back. Kikuchiyo is going back up the graveyard hill - Kyuzo can just see the shine of moonlight on his wet shoulders. He doesn't feel Kyuzo's eyes on him, doesn't turn. It's for the best.

If he did, if Kikuchiyo looked at him again, Kyuzo would go to him, lay his head against Kikuchiyo's chest again and raise himself on his toes to be kissed again and touch his fingertips to Kikuchiyo's burning skin again and he would not be able to break away, not even when dawn found them, and brought what it will bring.

He thinks - he should find Kambei. He should report that there is nothing to report. Then he should sit with him a while; Kambei is a solid, calming presence, and, more importantly, he only knows Kyuzo as the man he was half an hour ago. So much safer to be that man.

Then it occurs to him: Kambei's devoted pupil will be at his side, as always.

He cannot be near Katsushiro tonight.

Now that he knows he can be kissed, how could he not kiss Katsushiro?

Now that he knows what it is to be held, how could he not ask Katsushiro to hold him?

He is torn down the middle - half of him is still in Kikuchiyo's hands. He cannot lose the rest. Nothing for tomorrow would be left.

Tomorrow -

He does not live in prognostication, nor in memory. _Now_ and _soon_ matter; _last night_ is barely relevant; _last year_ is gone; whatever calamity came before that befell a different man, a boy whose name is no longer remembered, a ghost.

Tomorrow, a battle; no more needs to be said. 

Is he weeping, or is it the rain?

It does not matter.


	2. Chapter 2

Kyuzo does not like battle, but there is a clarity to it. Even in the most chaotic fight - there is simplicity.

The grounds of the battle are restricted, familiar. The numbers are known. The villagers are as prepared as they can be. 

He does not think about Kikuchiyo. He does not think about Katsushiro. He does not think about any one person.

He thinks only about allies and enemies. 

They bring down the last mounted bandit, and he knows the battle is nearly over. It is not over yet - it is not over yet - 

***

To see Kyuzo struck down - he had not expected it. Not Kyuzo. Young, green Katsushiro, or Kambei, in the autumn of his life, or Rikichi, too mad to see reason. Not Kyuzo. 

Kyuzo staggers, swings his blade - he wants to kill his attacker. 

Kikuchiyo will kill his attacker. 

Katsushiro - young, green - holds his head out of the mud when he falls, but Kikuchiyo is looking for who did this. 

The women’s house - the shrieking. 

Katsushiro clambers to his feet, but Kikuchiyo pulls him down. 

Kikuchiyo will kill his attacker. 

When he is hit in the gut, he gets back up. 

He kills Kyuzo’s attacker. 

He cannot do much more.

***

When the world was beautiful -

From a bed of flowers, Katsushiro watched a man sit beneath a tree, perfectly still except for the idle movement of one neat, slender hand, touching a single blossom. A quiet, weary-eyed, elegant man, smaller than him, as small as a girl.

He watched a man, muscled and powerful, crouch in the split of a trunk ten feet above the ground, his whole body poised as a wildcat's, face bright, grinning.

Katsushiro heard the trill of Kikuchiyo's battle cry, saw Kyuzo's sword flash, dug his fingers into the dirt and watched them fight side by side.

Two men who could not have been less alike: a wolf without a howl and a wildcat without a den, a single calligraphic stroke and a spatter of spilled ink, a snowstorm and a lightning bolt. And yet, exactly the same, in that he could not look away from either one.

When everything was beautiful.

Now the hollows of Kyuzo's face are caked with mud as if he is a corpse in the ground already. Kikuchiyo is silent, his limbs slack. The floor of the hut is slippery with their blood. He nearly falls, jerked back by his collar, someone is shouting his name - his sensei, dragging him towards the door, this is wrong, he will not allow it, not even Kambei will separate him from them -

Shichiroji has joined in now and he is not strong enough to resist them both. He is forced out of the hut. 

" _Katsushiro!_ " Kambei shouts again. "You are in the way!"

Panic boils in his stomach, cooks in his throat. He has been so foolish, he spoke to Kyuzo but he did not use the right words, he did not make him _understand_ , and he did not speak to Kikuchiyo at all, it is too late now and they will _die_ and never know -

Kambei shoves him against the wall, very hard. It empties Katsushiro's head for a second. Then he dissolves into tears.

" _Listen_ to me," Kambei says, in that voice which makes it impossible to do otherwise. "If you want to help them, fetch water. You are doing no good in there. They are both still breathing. Let the midwife get the bullets out." Shichiroji has found a pail and is pushing it into Katsushiro's hands.

"I will go with you, sir."

Rikichi is standing slightly down the slope from them. "Yes," his sensei says. "Good. Rikichi will help you. Go and fetch water, Katsushiro."

A few paces down into the village square, ankle-deep in muddy water again, he forgets where the stream is.

Rikichi takes him gently by the sleeve and leads him there.

He does not speak. Katsushiro does not want him to. He does not want to be told everything will be all right. Rikichi does not.

When he smells the flowers, Katsushiro collapses.


	3. Chapter 3

Kikuchiyo had woken while the woman pulled the bullet out of his belly. He had tried to sit up, been pushed back to the floor by - Katsushiro, who was holding his shoulders. 

“Stop moving,” Kambei bellowed at him. “The battle is over!”

“Kyuzo,” he gasped, twisting to see around him, and there, on a stained tatami, eyes closed, face still - Kyuzo. 

“He lives,” Katsushiro told him, “he lives.”

“If you want to stay alive, stay still,” the woman with the bloody hands told him.

So he had submitted to the pain and to Katsushiro’s soft hands. He turned his head to watch Kyuzo breathe. 

***

“New mothers make less fuss than you,” she gripes, when she is done.

“They at least get a child out of it,” he tells her, touching the edges of his poultice. “All I’m going to get is a scar.”

“Better than death,” she announces, turning away from him.

“Where was he hit?” he asks, looking back to Kyuzo.

“Ribs,” she says, shortly. “Deeper than you. A lot of blood, but the lungs are whole.”

“You were both lucky,” Kambei says. 

"He won't wake," Katsushiro says, thick-voiced, rocking slightly in place where he's sitting between them.

"I have told you, sir," says the midwife. She’s trying to stay deferential, hide her frustration - she’s told him several times. "It's the lost blood. He only needs time."

"How much time?" Katsushiro's face is red, tear-streaked.

 _"Katsushiro_ ," Kambei says. Katsushiro does not seem to hear him, which has never happened before.

***

When Kyuzo wakes, he wakes into a world gone wrong.

He is on his back - it’s unsafe to sleep this way, it takes too many precious seconds to get to one's feet and fight - and he cannot feel his sword - he never sleeps this way. He must get up.

He tries, and screams.

He has not screamed in a very, very long time.

The pain is indescribable. There is something demonic in it. A channel has been bored in him as if with an awl, and as if with a hammer one of his ribs has been split. He has been cut so many times, but not even the pain of the sword strike that nearly blinded him was like this. His nails dig into his palms and he fights for breath.

He remembers now.

He had thought, _I am going to die_. And then, _no one else must die_.

With all his strength he hurled his sword towards the sound of the gun. Then, mud in his mouth, and then nothing.

Now - drops of rain fall on him. No - not rain - he is indoors -

Katsushiro is leaning over him, weeping. His tears are falling on Kyuzo's cheeks, his lips. Katsushiro's hands encircle his face - he bends down to kiss Kyuzo's brow.

Kikuchiyo's voice: "Should've worn armor, idiot."

***

Kyuzo is stricken mute for a while. It is too much, the viciousness of the pain, the awful roll of dizziness that struck him when he lifted his head, Kikuchiyo's voice, Katsushiro's eyes, all this, and the thought of the armor Kikuchiyo brought them.

He does not remember how many stripped bodies he has found over the decades. They live in a world of war. One is forever reminded of that, wandering the country as he has. Almost naked, in the forests, in the shadows of castle walls, in fields that are no longer plowed, they lie, stab wounds bare and indecent under the sun. Stripped of armor, swords, all dignity.

Ragged men with bamboo spears have hunted him, many times. He has always evaded them. Now he wonders if this is how those samurai felt, the ones who became corpses in the forests and moats and fields - how they felt as they died.

Blind, his hands grope, his nails scratch the straw mat, the floor. "Give him his sword," Kikuchiyo says.

Kyuzo hears movement, and then - the smooth lacquer of the sheath, there - he clutches it. He breathes.

If Kikuchiyo knew he needed it, why did he not bring Kyuzo the sword himself?

With an effort that nearly brings tears to his eyes, he turns his head.

On the other side of the room, Kikuchiyo is lying on a mat of his own. His lower abdomen is wrapped in bandages. He stares back at Kyuzo, and Kyuzo can read pain in his eyes.

Kyuzo tries to speak, coughs something out of the back of his throat - blood. Katsushiro darts in with a cloth to wipe it from his lips.

He has been wounded, many times, convalesced, many times. No one else has ever bandaged him. No one else has ever cleaned him of blood.

"You..." he manages, finally, looking at Kikuchiyo. "Were..."

"Hurts like hell, but I'll be fine," Kikuchiyo says. "This one wasn't wounded at all, lucky bastard."

"Where... is... my kimono?" Kyuzo asks, as calmly as he can. The one on his body is not his. Katsushiro looks abashed. His eyes are still swimming with tears.

"I'm so sorry. It had a... a hole in it, and it was so dirty with blood and mud, I tried to get it clean..." (Kyuzo will find out later that Kambei had assigned Katsushiro the menial task of washing clothes to get him out of the sick room, where he had been doing nothing but sobbing for hours.) "And I'm happy for you to have my spare..."

That explains why this one is three sizes too big. The weave of the cloth is much finer than he's used to. It lies on his skin in strange, unsettling ways. "I... would like to..." It takes him long moments to continue the sentence. "... wear my own."

Katsushiro looks down at his hands. His breath hitches pitifully. "I'm so very sorry," he says again. "We used it to keep the fire going."

Of course he cannot be angry at Katsushiro; it is impossible to be angry at Katsushiro.

(Kyuzo will find out later that he has been sleeping at their feet.)

“It looks fine. Don’t be rude.” Kikuchiyo is also forced to lie on his back, but he is an arm's length away. He is safe. He is healing.

He is wearing his own clothes, cleaner than Kyuzo has ever seen him, grinning at Kyuzo constantly.

Everything is unsettling.

***

Kikuchiyo watches Katsushiro weep and is torn between a desire to ridicule him and to kiss him.

He watches Katsushiro as they eat dinner, alongside Kambei and Shichiroji, sitting in the little sick house, and he cannot imagine being as young as Katsushiro.

“What you did,” Katsushiro says, standing at the door, the last to leave, “that was very brave.”

His eyes are so large. He is ridiculous. He is kissable. 

“What did he do?” Kyuzo asks.

“I got shot,” Kikiuchiyo says, ashamed, for a moment.

“He stormed right into the house where the last bandit was hiding - he was shot and still pursued him. Ran him through. He was fearless.”

Kyuzo tips his head towards Kikuchiyo. 

“It was magnificent,” Katsushiro finishes, and rushes out the door, like he might burst.

“That boy!” Kikuchiyo drags his hands down his face. “It was easier when he was only in love with you.”

“Don’t be stupid. He loves that girl.”

“What girl? He’d never go with a girl. He’s like you, he doesn’t like girls.”

Kyuzo blinks several times. “You - he did. The night before battle. Shichiroji told me the morning after.”

“Oh, boys do all kinds of things the night before battle,” Kikuchiyo waves a hand.

Kyuzo does not move at all, and Kikuchiyo realises what he’s said. He does not want that lost look in Kyuzo’s eyes. 

He wants no harm to ever come to Kyuzo again, he realises, with some terror.

“Boys - you know, boys are very stupid. Men like us, we’re smart. We know what we’re doing.”

“Oh.” This has not relaxed him at all.

Kikuchiyo is more mobile than Kyuzo. He shuffles over, lies beside him, so their shoulders and hips touch. With great effort and some pain, he kisses Kyuzo on the cheek.

“I am going to sleep here,” he says, and loops his hand around Kyuzo’s.

Kyuzo squeezes his fingers, which Kikuchiyo is willing to believe is a welcoming gesture.

“Anyway, which girl?”

Kyuzo sighs briefly. “The short haired one.”

“Oh, the boy one! See! He was confused.”

“How… can you tell?”

Kikuchiyo knows what he’s asking. “How do you know winter is coming? How do you know a blade is losing its edge? How did you know that wasn’t your kimono? You know what to sense, and you sense it.” He considers it, for a moment. “It’s a skill. Most people can’t tell. I’m very smart, remember?”

“Why would I forget?” Kyuzo asks, and Kikuchiyo wishes they weren’t injured, so he could roll on top of Kyuzo and kiss him until dawn.

***

Katsushiro sits in the branches of a tree with Kikuchiyo lounging by him. 

He talks to Kikuchiyo of Kyuzo - talks to him as he would not talk to anyone else, because surely Kikuchiyo shares his admiration. Kikuchiyo delights to move, to see Kyuzo move, moves in concert with him with ease.

Kikuchiyo, for all his bluster, is as impressed, as astounded by Kyuzo as Katsushiro. Kambei is too, but he would not want to listen, he would only give Katsushiro some job to do - which is good, he is a good teacher - but Kikuchiyo likes to talk, and to listen. 

That is why he talks to him - to share.

“Your conversation is so fascinating. But we’ll bury him tomorrow.”

Katsushiro stops, suddenly dizzy. “What?”

“I said, we’ll bury him tomorrow! Are you deaf as well as stupid?” 

He grabs Kikuchiyo, offended, horrified, ready to argue - but Kikuchiyo is pale, he is pale and cold and unmoving, blood spreading from his guts, it is raining and Kyuzo has already died, he has already died and Katsushiro could do _nothing_ -

He wakes. He wakes and remembers that the battle is done. That conversation was days ago, and did not go that way.

The night before, when Kyuzo had not yet woken, Kambei permitted him to sleep in the sickhouse, in case anything happened - in case Kyuzo stopped breathing or Kikuchiyo opened his wound - to fetch help. 

It had been a privilege, to stay by them, to keep watch. He had barely slept, alert to any movement, any sound. He memorised the way their chests would rise and fall.

When he had woken, Kikuchiyo was sitting up, against the wall. 

He had nodded at Katsushiro, said, “He lives.”

They won’t mind, he decides, if he goes to check. It’s sensible to check - they had been well at dinner, but who can say, with wounds, what may happen. 

He slips his sandals on, quietly, glances back at Kambei and Shichiroji. They do not stir.

There is a half moon, enough light to see by as he walks to the sick house. Dawn is not far away, he thinks. 

He ducks his head into the sick house - if anything is wrong, he will be able to get the midwife quickly. 

They are side-by-side. There is no space between them. Their hands, dark against their clothes, are entwined. Their chests rise and fall.

They hold hands like he has seen his parents do. 

Oh, but he is stupid, as the dream told him, he is stupid to have failed to realise. 

He wanted - he wanted to be by them, as he was the night before. He wanted to listen to them breathe, and clean their clothes, and watch them move. 

But there is no space. 

He will not intrude on their privacy. 

Katsushiro walks away. 

He does not return to Rikishi’s house, but wanders the village. There are repairs still to be done. He is learning carpentry. Kambei says there is no skill beneath a samurai.

As he walks, he finds himself close to the hollow where he met Shino more than once. He would like to talk to Shino, as they talked before, before they ruined everything between them.

Then, as though he summoned her, she appears from inside the hollow.

They stare at each other for a moment before she ducks her head.

“What… are you doing here?” he asks.

She does not answer.

“If - if your father won’t… have you,” he begins, but he does not know what he could offer. Stay with us? Leave with us? She won’t. 

“I won’t have him.” She glances up. “I won’t live with him anymore. I’m going to stay in Yohei’s house. He was my mother’s brother. But - it seems too soon.”

“You can’t sleep here,” he tells her.

“I can. I have.” 

She has. 

“I’m sorry,” Katsushiro says, and he means for everything. For all of it. 

“I’m not,” she says, eyes burning. “I don’t - want anything from you. But I’m not sorry.”

He doesn’t know what she wants. He never has. 

The first bird of the day begins to sing. The sun is still not up, but it must sense the warmth of the day to come. 

“I’m glad.”

She nods, and walks past him. 

A few steps behind him, she stops. 

“Why are you here?”

I was alone. I was scared. I want what I cannot have. 

“I could not sleep.”

He doesn’t turn around, and eventually, he can hear her walk away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's uh no longer three chapters
> 
> more tbd


	4. Chapter 4

In the day, various villagers come to call on them. 

It is tortuous, for Kyuzo, to be pinned by his wound as people insist on talking to him. They bring him food he cannot eat and sake he does not want. Their grateful eyes burn him. All he did was kill, which is all he has ever done, and get shot.

Rikichi is the only one he can stand. He waits with his thanks till Kyuzo is alone in the sickroom, Kikuchiyo outside basking in the sun.

The monster is off Rikichi's back, though his eyes still smolder like coals, even when he is smiling. They probably always will, Kyuzo thinks. Rikichi has been spending much of his time with Katsushiro lately, he says, and tells Kyuzo of his failures in teaching Katsushiro how to start a fire, which makes Kyuzo smile.

Rikichi says, "You were right, you know," as their smiles softly fade. "That night, when I wanted to go after a gun. You said I was looking to die, and you went out in my place. I was."

_You know what to sense, and you sense it._

Kikuchiyo knows a great deal about love. Kyuzo knows a great deal about -

"What were you looking for?" Rikichi says.

He does not have to answer, because Kikuchiyo comes in, supported by Mosuke, with his wife and two other village families trailing after him. The children are each carrying small wreaths of flowers.

The bullet burrowed a space for itself in him. It's gone now, and the hole is closing up. But other things are making spaces inside him too, things that cannot be removed, bleeding spaces that will never close. And the old wounds - sometimes he has to close his eyes, as if the scar on his face has reopened, blood sheeting down to blind him.

The children place their wreaths on Kikuchiyo's head. Kikuchiyo pretends they are crushing him.

A little girl brings hers to Kyuzo. He reaches to accept it, the wrong muscles are put to use and he flinches.

Sometimes the pain isn't so bad; sometimes it is.

***

At sundown, Kambei, Rikishi and some other villagers with food come in. Kambei is carrying the old man’s grandchild.

Without thinking, Kikuchiyo reaches out for the baby. 

“His name is Minori,” he says, handing him into Kikuchiyo’s arms. 

“Minori,” he coos. “What a good name you have, Minori! What strong legs!” The baby is kicking him, and it hurts very much, but it’s fine. “You will be a fine rider, with these powerful legs!”

“Kazue and Sachio have been caring for him,” Rikishi says. 

Kikuchiyo looks up - Sachio he recognises from the fields, Kazue from the defenses. 

“Good! Because if someone hadn’t taken responsibility for you,” he tickles the fat little feet, “I would have burnt this place down myself.” He looks up, and laughs at everyone’s faces. Rikishi starts laughing too, because he has a good sense of humour. Minori laughs, because he is a baby.

Kyuzo grins too, and, like magic, the whole room relaxes. 

Kambei shakes his head and turns to the meal that has been laid before them.

“Where is Katsushiro?” Kikuchiyo asks. “I haven’t seen that fool all day.”

“He’s been helping out,” Rikishi says. “And avoiding Shino,” he adds, quietly.

Kikuchiyo loves and hates villages. No one can keep a secret.

“Who could imagine such a relationship was doomed?” he says, theatrically confiding in Minori. 

“Be gentle,” Kambei announces. “He had his first battle and his first broken heart.”

“He’ll recover,” Kikuchiyo says. Minori’s parents won’t. Yohei won’t. Gorobei and Heihachi and Sano and Tetsu and - 

Katsushiro and Shichiroji walk in. 

“Ah!” Katsushiro’s eyes light up. “Minori!”

Kikuchiyo wants to stay angry, but Katsushiro sits between him and Kyuzo, picks up morsels of food and pretends they are falcons coming into roost in Minori’s mouth. Katsushiro is warm and tender and sweet-voiced. 

When he sees Kyuzo gazing at Katsushiro with soft eyes, he cannot stay angry.

***

That Kikuchiyo was apparently right about whatever occurred with Katsushiro and the girl is not a surprise. That he handles a baby confidently is not surprising. 

What is a little surprising is how gently he does treat Katsushiro. 

Kyuzo saw the rage building in Kikuchiyo, just for a moment, before Katsushiro entered, saw how quickly it was diffused, like a doused flame. Saw Kikuchiyo trace Katsushiro’s movements through the room, how he puffed up with something like pride to have Katsushiro sit by him. 

_He has you, too_ , he thinks, and admires the curious symmetry of it. A triangle - the most stable of forms. 

He had thought himself torn in half. But he no longer feels split - he feels doubled, when they are both here, overfull, somehow. 

It could be some after-effect of the wound, or the fact that he’s eating a full meal for the first time in days. 

He must be cautious, still. 

Though when Kikuchiyo tells the child a story and Katsushiro provides the sounds of different animals - it does not feel like a place to be cautious.

***

After the meal, Minori, half-asleep, is handed to his foster parents. Everyone who sleeps elsewhere begins to put their shoes back on, and Kikuchiyo leans against the wall.

“Recovery is exhausting,” he says, yawning.

This may be his moment, Katsushiro thinks, half standing. To say what he has been trying to say.

“Kikuchiyo,” he begins.

“What?”

“And Kyuzo,” he says, then stalls, as Kyuzo looks up at him, his narrow, sharp face, his beautiful eyes. 

“I have something I want to tell you.”

“What?” Kikuchiyo says again, louder. 

“You are both - the finest men I have had the privilege to meet.” He swallows. Kikuchiyo raises his eyebrows, looks at Kyuzo - but Kyuzo is still watching him. “If - if this were another world, I would have - happily, I would have been honoured to - you are both very, very remarkable, and...”

Kyuzo glances at Kikuchiyo now, and Katsushiro feels suddenly extremely foolish. They have each other. They have - matching wounds and a language of looks and do not cry when they kill a man. They are equals and they do not need - they do not need - 

“You are magnificent,” he tells them, his throat closing up.

“Thank you very much,” Kikuchiyo says, formally. “But I think you’ve said this before.”

Kyuzo smiles: a small, elegant thing.

“I’m sorry - I’m sorry, I’ll leave you to rest.” Katsushiro walks out of the sickhouse as quickly as he can.

***

“You usually enjoy compliments,” Kyuzo tells him, as he attempts to lever himself from sitting to lying down.

“I am a modest man,” Kikuchiyo says, catching Kyuzo by the shoulder and supporting him to the ground. 

“You are many things, it seems,” Kyuzo settles himself, closing his eyes. “Including magnificent.”

Kikuchiyo scoffs, lies down, a little further away than last night. He doesn’t want to presume.

“Is it not nice to hear?” Kyuzo asks, turning his head toward Kikuchiyo.

Kikuchiyo frowns, trying to puzzle out why that little declaration frustrated him so.

Kyuzo, watching Katsushiro. Kyuzo, smiling at Katsushiro - not smirking or laughing, but simply smiling. 

“You want him, don’t you?” Kikuchiyo asks. “I thought it was just him, but…”

But your eyes are shining. But you have shown as much emotion during a conversation with him as when I made you come. But he is unmarred, unblemished, full of hope and who would not love him? Who could compare?

“He smells of flowers,” Kyuzo says.

Kikuchiyo sniffs himself. Sweat, blood. No flowers. 

No matter. It is - no matter. He had Kyuzo first - he was lucky for it, he is owed nothing, he will ask for nothing.

But Kyuzo barely knows how to ask. Kikuchiyo can give him that. Kikuchiyo had him first, has him now, and it does not matter that he can’t have him forever. Nothing is forever. There is only now. 

He gathers himself.

“Well, he’s not going to make the first move. You’re going to have to learn to ask for what you want.”

Kyuzo reaches a hand over to Kikuchiyo, fastens his fingers around his wrist.

“How do you ask?” he says, the corner of his mouth lifting. 

Kikuchiyo barks a laugh. “Oh, you’re sly now, are you?”

He rolls onto his side anyway, because at some point in the last few days he lost the ability to deny Kyuzo anything. 

Kyuzo props his free hand gently on Kikuchiyo’s chest, tilts his head in, and kisses him. 

Perhaps he is thinking of Katsushiro, but Kikuchiyo does not blame him.

“Tell me,” he mutters against Kyuzo’s chin, “tell me what you want.”

“To return the favour,” he says, in his light voice. 

_Of course_ , Kikuchiyo realises. Can’t finish the thing owing him. 

“So confident,” he crows, and kisses Kyuzo again. 

Kyuzo slips his hand down to Kikuchiyo’s crotch - and hesitates, because he hasn’t had to open another man’s clothes from this angle ever. 

“Like this,” he guides Kyuzo to his belt. “And - _ah - ah_.” 

His cool, fine hand wraps around his cock, jerks once, twice. 

“Slow,” he says, and Kyuzo stops moving entirely. “Slow, not nothing!”

Kyuzo nods, and starts a steady, sweet motion that makes Kikuchiyo sigh against his shoulder.

“That’s good. That’s - so good. Wait,” he spits into his hand, “let go,” and Kyuzo quickly does. He wets his cock, and puts Kyuzo’s fingers back where they were. 

Kyuzo’s mouth opens, and Kikuchiyo kisses him, keeps kissing him as their hands work together. 

Kikuchiyo is a selfish man, he knows this. He’ll take anything Kyuzo will give him, before he lets him go.

***

Kyuzo feels Kikuchiyo - petal soft, delicate, but stiff, twitching - alive, alive, alive. 

It has been a long time since he has let himself be taught anything, but Kikuchiyo teaches well: encouraging, prompting, directing. 

He is so caught up in memorising the sensations, the movements, that he is surprised by Kikuchiyo’s finish - pulsing into their hands.

“Ah, wait,” Kikuchiyo sits up, fetches the washcloth from the bowl. He wipes both their hands and throws it towards the corner. 

He lies back, perpendicular now, his head on Kyuzo’s thigh, and smiles up his body. 

Something unfamiliar floods his chest. 

“Pretty good. You want to ask for anything else? Something new?” 

“What?”

“How about I show you?”

He spreads his legs, and Kikuchiyo takes that as an invitation - which it may have been - to shift his hand to Kyuzo’s cock, pressing through his clothes. 

“Will it make a mess?” Kyuzo asks, because they only have the one washcloth, and it seems a pity to ruin their newly cleaned clothes.

“Ha!” Kikuchiyo clambers between his legs, tugs his borrowed kimono open. “Not if I do it right.”

Kikuchiyo puts one arm against the ground, presses his forehead to Kyuzo’s hip as he frees Kyuzo. He sighs, and the shock of another’s breath there - another’s mouth - tugs a noise out of Kyuzo he had not thought himself capable of. 

He wraps his fingers around Kyuzo’s cock, and sighs again, and - then - 

Kyuzo tries to stay still, to stay quiet - it hurts if he moves and if he alerts anyone in the village - 

Kikuchiyo’s mouth is very - much.

He scratches his fingers through Kikuchiyo’s hair, trying to find something to hang onto - Kikuchiyo catches his hand, holds it as he sucks his cock.

Kyuzo feels - he _feels._

When he comes, Kikuchiyo swallows it, his mouth moving gently around him. 

“Kikuchiyo,” he says, and he can hear himself slip free.

“Kyuzo,” he replies, breathing heavily.

He has been alone for years. He has ridden alone, fought alone, eaten alone, slept alone. It was necessary. It was safe.

Kikuchiyo is covering him, hands gentle.

“Sleep by me,” Kyuzo tells him. 

Kikichiyo lays beside him, as he did last night. 

He cannot know the future, but he wants this in it.

***

Katsushiro ends the day as he began it - walking through the village in the dark.

He feels, by turns, joyous and ill. He thinks of Kikuchiyo smiling at the child and has to lean against a tree, overwhelmed. 

He is being tested, he decides, this is a trial, as the battle was a trial, and he must make honourable choices. He remembers Kyuzo smiling up at him and shudders. He aches all over. 

Suddenly energised, he breaks into a run. He heads for the place where everything was beautiful.

The white flowers reflect the face of the moon. He sinks, panting, to the ground, letting the scent fill his lungs. He rolls onto his belly, presses his face into petals and dirt, crushing plants in a desire to - what? Return to that moment? Before he knew the terror of fearing for their lives, of taking a life? Before he knew that they had each other, were out of his reach?

Were they ever in his reach?

He sobs, tears burning. He thinks of holding Kikuchiyo down, as the midwife worked, cradling Kyuzo, when he first fell. Perhaps that is as close as he will ever be. He should not want more - he should not want at all.

But he wants. He wants. He imagines them holding one another - he imagines Kyuzo undressing Kikuchiyo with calm poise. He imagines Kikuchiyo savagely kissing him - perhaps growling. 

Katsushiro is hard against the ground, and he sobs again. His mouth is full of fleshy, green tasting petals. 

Do they rut against each other, as he ruts now? Does Kyuzo take himself in hand, as he does now? Would Kikuchiyo be rough, as he brings Katsushiro off, or is Kyuzo the one working him, or is it both - would they push him down and make him come, ashamed, shaking, wet with tears and spend?

He gasps, as he comes against the ground. 

Katsushiro rolls again, onto his back, away from his mess, and stares at the night sky.

He must leave this village. He must leave these men.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shout out to andy and gee for letting themselves get browbeaten into watching this flick


	5. Chapter 5

The midwife comes in the morning to peel off and replace their poultices. 

“You have opened your wound again,” she announces, disapproving. “Move less.”

Kikuchiyo shrugs. “I stay here all day. I’m not running through the hills. Would you have me ignore my visitors? Refrain from eating?”

 _Stop exerting yourself to pleasure an undeserving man_ , Kyuzo thinks. 

“Carry no more wriggling children,” she says. 

“I swear off babies,” Kikuchiyo promises dramatically.

She nods dubiously and turns to Kyuzo, who says nothing. Kikuchiyo pulls a face behind her. 

“Yours will need a few more weeks of rest,” she tells Kyuzo, wrapping the bandages tight. “There’s no pus, which is good - but there’s not a lot of flesh there to close over. Eat more. And stay off your feet.” She has become less deferential to his rank over the last few days. He does not mind.

“I’ll see to his eating,” Kikuchiyo says, “I’ll force feed him if I must.”

“You will not.”

Kikuchiyo sticks his tongue out, grins. Kyuzo flushes red. He had not meant - would the midwife notice? 

But she is washing her hands. 

He looks back at Kikuchiyo, who tucks his hands behind his head, stares innocently at the ceiling.

***

Rikichi brings them breakfast.

“You’ll be around for the end of the harvest, then. It will be a good time.”

“We may even be allowed to leave the sickhouse and join in the fun by then,” Kikuchiyo says. “I’d like to. It’s been years since I’ve seen a full harvest.”

Kyuzo imagines Kikuchiyo as a boy, eager to help, eager to show off. He is struck with grief, for that boy, for himself as a boy. Neither of them were allowed to proceed into the lives they imagined for themselves. But if they had, would they have met? If they had met, would it have been as equals? There’s little worth in imagining such things.

“You will share a drink with me,” Kikuchiyo is saying to Rikichi, “this one won’t, and all these gifts shouldn’t go to waste.”

Rikichi smiles, and Kyuzo envies him. He has, despite everything, a home here. He has a guide for his future - he knows what his life will look like. Harvests, seasons, the mill rebuilt, the years unfolding. 

He wants Kikuchiyo with him, wants to ask Katsushiro to join them - but he does not know where they will go. Kikuchiyo, alone, may have gone anywhere - settled here with someone’s daughter, for all he knows. But together? 

After Rikichi heads off, Kyuzo stares at the meal he brought. Rice, hard won. Sown and reaped with care.

“I meant it, about making you eat. If you don’t heal, I’ll never get to teach you all the other things. Things you need to be strong for.” He kicks a foot out, presses it against Kyuzo’s bare shin - an innocuous touch that sets him blushing again.

“Would you stay here?” Kyuzo asks, without thinking.

“She said we have to.”

“After. When you’ve healed. Would you live here? For the rest of the harvests?”

Kikuchiyo frowns. “When _we’ve_ healed. You’re healing.”

Kyuzo nods, conceding. “Would you stay?”

Kikuchiyo puts his bowl down. “Would you?”

If he stayed, he would be a samurai no longer.

“I do not know.”

Kikuchiyo picks up Kyuzo’s bowl, presents it to him. Holds it out until he takes it.

“We have time to decide,” he says, resuming his own meal.

 _We,_ thinks Kyuzo. How many years since there has been someone who shared his life, his decisions?

No more, and that is enough for now. He eats the rice under Kikuchiyo’s watchful eye.

***

Katsushiro organises his things very quietly before the morning meal. There is not much to organise - his money reduced and his spare kimono given away. 

He is delaying, he knows, the conversation he must have with the man he begged to teach him. 

He waits until Kambei is alone, walking out to help repair the bridge while Shichiroji supports the farmers in replanting. His heart is in his throat, but the alternative, he reminds himself, is worse.

“Teacher?”

“Katsushiro,” he nods, “will you be with Rikichi again today?”

“No - teacher, I must say something.”

Kambei stops, looks at him, assessing. Then he smiles. “So you must.”

“I,” he swallows, “I must thank you for so capably educating me in the ways of the samurai and request that you release me as your student.” He says it as quickly as possible, so as to avoid failing.

“Katsushiro,” Kambei says gently, entirely unsurprised, “it is possible that you have forgotten. I never accepted you as my student. You have been an ally to me. You must ask for nothing.”

“Really?”

Kambei rubs a hand over the top of his head where his grey hair is growing in. “You are a samurai, Katsushiro. You may learn from me, and from anyone you meet, but you are not indebted to me.”

“I - I am, but I thank you for saying so. If you had not - taken pity on my foolish pleas, I would not… I would be still foolish, I would not have learnt the true meaning of - of - I would know nothing, were it not for you, teacher.”

“You should call me by my name, Katsushiro.”

He nods, unable to speak, and Kambei nods back, starts to stride away.

“Wait!” he says, reaching out, and Kambei stops. “I - asked to be released because I plan to return to my family home.” 

Kambei is taken aback. He was not by the idea of Katsushiro breaking with him as a student, but now, he is shocked. “When?”

“Today.” If he stays another night he may break entirely.

“So soon? With no warning? It will rain today, you will not wait for better weather?”

“Today,” he repeats. “Rikichi has given me a hat.”

“You are decided, then. Will you give your farewells to Shichiroji, Kyuzo, Kikuchiyo?”

He hesitates. If he must see them again, he hopes it will be brief. Or, somehow, far from now, when he has control of himself - if he ever has. He glances in the direction of the sickhouse.

“I do not want to bother them,” he says, in a small voice.

Kambei regards him, and sighs. “You are not my student, but may I tell you of an incident from my past?”

Katsushiro blinks. This is not what he expected. “Of course, teacher.”

"Ten years ago, Shichiroji and I were mercenary soldiers in the defense of Shigisan Castle, when it was besieged by Oda Nobunaga."

"You fought _against_ Oda Nobunaga?"

"It went as well as you can expect," Kambei says with that rueful smile of his. It is always fascinating to hear him talk about his past, on those rare occasions when he does, but Katsushiro wonders what point he's moving towards.

"For a time," Kambei continues, "the two of us fought side by side. But when the final breakthrough came, our brigade was split; he was ordered to lead bowmen on the outer wall, firing down into the breach, and I was sent to flank the invaders with a squad of arquebusiers. We were held off by their arrows and could not get in range, and as we regrouped, the castle went up in flames."

He pauses and rubs his head again.

"Have you ever seen a castle burn?"

Katsushiro shakes his head.

"That's good," Kambei says. "I watched, and I knew Shichiroji was dead. The orders we had followed were given in a rush. I had said nothing like a goodbye."

He has never thought of his teacher suffering before. It is a shock. Yet - of course, Shimada Kambei feels hunger, and weariness, and sorrow, like any man.

"That is how it is in war. To fight in a great battle of that kind is like being swallowed by a whale. I had not betrayed him by failing to bid him farewell, and I knew that he would not see it that way in the next world. Yet, I grieved it, and thought often of the words I would've said. Do you understand me, Katsushiro?"

"I..."

Kambei’s voice is stern. "They may have escaped death in this small war, but you cannot expect that Kikuchiyo and Kyuzo are beloved of the gods, as Shichiroji seems to be. Do not assume you will meet them by chance in ten years' time, and say what you did not say now."

Katsushiro's eyes burn. _Again_ , he is about to lose what dignity he has and cry in front of his teacher. He knows what Kambei is telling him, but how can he bear doing it?

***

Katsushiro walks across the village square.

He moves slowly. He has acquired nothing since he came here but his belongings, packed on his shoulders, seem heavier now. The dry earth is marked with ridges and deep furrows, plowed by the bodies of dead men and horses as the farmers dragged them away, after the battle when the rain eased. It is treacherous going.

How long before Kyuzo can walk here, without someone helping to bear his weight? Will he need a crutch?

If Kyuzo needs someone to hold him up, Katsushiro tells himself, Kikuchiyo is very strong.

There, to his left, is the open space where Kyuzo trained farmers for war - where Katsushiro watched him disarm Mosuke and send him tumbling to the ground with a single motion. To fight like that, he'd thought, was the finest thing a man could do; there, he'd thought, was the finest man he'd ever seen.

He passes the place where he stood, hot wind kicking up dust into his eyes, on the day that Kambei gathered the village together. _If you only think of yourself, you'll only destroy yourself,_ Kambei said. Behind him Katsushiro stood with Gorobei, looking at the other four with their squads in a line. Kyuzo held himself up pillar-straight; Kikuchiyo leaned on his sword.

Here is the raised earth at the center of the square. He thinks of Kikuchiyo perched on the crossed beams, laughing.

Before him is the sickhouse.

A depression in the ground catches his foot. He still hasn't learned to be nimble - he stumbles, falls onto his hands and knees.

Picking himself up, he notices there is dirt on his hands - it would be dishonourable to present himself to Kyuzo and Kikuchiyo with dirty hands. 

He knows where the stream is now, so he goes to wash his hands.

The water is cool, sweet smelling. He thinks of Kikuchiyo, catching a fish with his bare hands - powerful, undressed, fully aware of the eyes on him. He thinks of wiping the mud from their faces as they lay on the floor. 

Perhaps he can leave now. Kambei will not follow him. 

Kambei will not follow him, but his shame might.

He stands by the stream, dries his hands. He is a man. He is a samurai. He can speak to men he respects, men he fought beside. 

Katsushiro walks to the sickhouse again. He steels himself. He is ready. He will not fall apart. 

Then, it begins to rain. 

***

It begins to rain and he cannot breathe. 

***

Kikuchiyo looks up when the rain begins, thinking that it’s good news for the rice crop. Then he sees Katsushiro at the door and feels, for a moment, angry. He’s back, and Kyuzo will smile at him, gaze at him the way he doesn’t gaze at Kikuchiyo. 

But Katsushiro, wearing a rain hat which drips onto his shoulders, is breathing heavily, as if he has run here. His face is creased in pain. 

“Hey,” he calls, “are you hurt? What’s wrong?”

Katsushiro shakes his head, closes his eyes, still standing in the doorway.

Kikuchiyo looks to Kyuzo, who frowns. 

He looks back at Katsushiro, fists clenched, dripping. 

And he realizes: it's the rain.

It hasn't rained since the battle.

That is why Katsushiro doesn't move.

He cannot go out in the rain.

Kyuzo makes a small noise. Kikuchiyo turns and sees him sink down onto the mat, hand on the bandage over his wound - he's tried to get up and failed.

"Kikuchiyo," he says. "Please..."

How is it that he can understand Kyuzo so well now? He couldn't have liked him less, when they met, when those quick little hands snatched his sword. Now those hands have made him come; that cool, unmoved judge's face has opened up for him; he's seen Kyuzo shocked and afraid and tender and undone.

He gets to his feet, a slow process, then approaches Kyuzo and offers his hand.

This will be difficult. It will hurt.

It does hurt, when he takes some of Kyuzo's weight so he can stand.

Their progress is slow, tortuously slow.

“Here,” Kyuzo says, so they stop, arm’s length from the door.

“Come in,” Kyuzo says, and Katsushiro does not move.

“Can’t you hear? Come in,” Kikuchiyo repeats.

Katsushiro takes two steps inside, but does not look at them.

Kyuzo lets go of Kikuchiyo, stands on his own in front of Katsushiro. Kikuchiyo doesn’t sit back down yet, mindful of what the midwife said.

"It is over," Kyuzo says, with a gentleness that makes Kikuchiyo's breath stop.

He sees a tear run down Katsushiro's smooth pale cheek.

"Listen," Kyuzo says. "What do you hear?"

Katsushiro looks down at the floor. Kikuchiyo wonders if he will speak or sob.

"Rain," he says, almost inaudibly.

"What else?"

His breath hitches slightly and his shoulders jump. "Nothing."

"Horses?"

More tears. Katsushiro's hands are knotted in his short hakama so tightly it seems he'll tear them to pieces.

"Do you hear horses, Katsushiro?"

"N-no."

"Cries?"

"No."

"Steel?"

"No."

"Do you understand me?" Kyuzo says. "It is finished."

Katsushiro is silent then. His breathing has eased. Kyuzo reaches up, under Katsushiro's chin, and unties the bands of his hat. He lifts it from Katsushiro's head and tosses it lightly aside.

The urge Kikuchiyo has to seize and hold them is fierce, wild, a greater torrent than the heaviest rain. But he will not. They are like deer glimpsed in the forest.

"Rain will not harm you," Kyuzo says. "It will only get you wet."

"You've... taken my hat," Katsushiro says.

"I have," Kyuzo says. He is smiling up at Katsushiro, the way he did last night after dinner. "Would you like it back?"

Kyuzo places his hand lightly on Katsushiro’s chest, over his heart.

Katsushiro gazes down, the way he did last night. "I... I think... now... I don't need it."

"No," Kyuzo says.

Katsushiro smiles. His eyes are radiant.

Kyuzo stands there, hand on Katsushiro's chest, face tilted up, lips parted, waiting - oh, Kikuchiyo realizes, he's not strong or balanced enough yet to get up on his toes. 

If he does nothing, now - they may - they may never - he may never have to -

But he will not deny Kyuzo this.

Kikuchiyo punches Katsushiro lightly in the arm. "Lean down, you dope."

Katsushiro blinks his huge, girlish eyes, and then says, "Oh!" 

He bends a little, brings himself down to Kyuzo's level, and Kyuzo kisses him.

The young idiot must not have kissed that village girl much, Kikuchiyo thinks, because he looks comically out of his depth, hands half-lifted, open in the air, shoulders tense - but Kyuzo has learned very fast, since that first night.

Kikuchiyo watches Kyuzo's lips move gently against Katsushiro's mouth, and decides to help. He takes Katsushiro's hands and places them on Kyuzo's body - he fits so neatly in Katsushiro's arms, as if he’s meant to be there. 

Something in Katsushiro wakes up then, and he pulls Kyuzo flush against his chest. 

Kyuzo makes a small, yearning sound. Both their voices are high, soft, lovely.

"You make a fine couple," Kikuchiyo says. This was always going to happen - nothing in life ever stands still. Himself least of all. He moves to leave them alone.

"Couple?" Kyuzo says, breaking the kiss, turning his head.

He's holding Kikuchiyo's arm.

***

Past the simple vocabulary of danger, he reads people very poorly, Kyuzo has come to realize. Has he misunderstood Kikuchiyo so badly? Yet - in the graveyard -

Kikuchiyo kissed him. Kikuchiyo called him handsome. Kikuchiyo said we, we, we will.

 _He went mad_ , he remembers Rikichi saying, _when you fell._

And Kikuchiyo does not pull away.

A little to the left or right, Kambei said, and the bullet would have torn Kyuzo irreparably inside. He was lucky, Kambei said.

For so long he has done nothing but wait for his luck to run out.

Kikuchiyo is looking down at Kyuzo's hand on his arm. His brow is furrowed, he is frowning the way he does when he is required to think deeply about something. Kyuzo says his name. He looks up, a little wildly, as if he's just been shaken from sleep.

His eyes move from Kyuzo to Katsushiro, searching. Kyuzo shifts his hand from Kikuchiyo's elbow to his wrist. He can feel Kikuchiyo's pulse there. It is quick, strong, like him. He leans his head against Katsushiro's chest, can hear his heart beating, too.

His own heart pounds, as if he has been fighting a long, hard battle.

To _need_ \- oh, it is terrifying. To ask - he does not know how to ask - perhaps they will all stand here forever, waiting on words he cannot find -

He can only wind his fingers into Katsushiro's kimono, hold on to Kikuchiyo's wrist.

"I thought you -" Kikuchiyo says. His voice sounds raw, wrested from him. "Chose."

_Oh._

How easily the language of the heart is misread.

"Must I?" he says. His own voice is small - he can hear the fright in it. Will they force him to?

Katsushiro reaches around him to grab Kikuchiyo's sleeve, saying, "Please don't - don't make him - don't make me -" 

But Kikuchiyo is wordless. He looks confused and afraid and, all of a sudden, desperately, painfully young.

Katsushiro is so young, too: young, foolish, brave.

Still holding Kyuzo tight, he kisses Kikuchiyo on the mouth.

Kikuchiyo sways against them, his strange, wonderful face slack, eyes closed. 

They kiss, and Kyuzo clutches at them, exhausted, relieved. 

When Kikuchiyo breaks away, gasping, Katsushiro looks scared. 

“You,” Kikuchiyo says, as though angry, but he kisses Katsushiro again, clutching at his collar. He stops, turns to Kyuzo. “You!” He kisses Kyuzo on the forehead, the cheek, the mouth.

“Yes,” Katsushiro whispers. 

***

Seeing them - feeling their bodies, it’s more than he imagined. They are real, solid, they smell of themselves and taste - he can taste them - he kisses Kikuchiyo’s neck, Kyuzo’s ear. 

“I can’t believe this,” Kikuchiyo says, “why didn’t you say, we could have -” Katsushiro kisses him, because he can, he can and it is excellent. 

Kikuchiyo sets a hand against Katsushiro’s jaw, tugs his mouth open, sweeps his tongue in, possessive, demanding. “Kiss him again,” he instructs, pointing him towards Kyuzo.

Kyuzo - deadly, dignified Kyuzo - is sweet and supple in his arms. He shivers as they kiss, Kikuchiyo keeping that hand on him, holding him in place.

“You two,” Kikuchiyo sighs, “I will do everything with you two.” Kyuzo is kissing the tears from his face.

“Anything,” Katsushiro says, dizzy. 

“Anything?” Kikuchiyo bites his neck, a wildcat demanding attention.

“I want,” Kyuzo starts, and Kikuchiyo laughs into Katsushiro’s collarbone.

“He wants,” Kikuchiyo tells Katsushiro, rocking his hips forward, one hand sliding down Kyuzo’s spine. “Tell us what you want.”

Katsushiro is blushing - _Kyuzo_ is blushing. Can they - _will_ they make Kikuchiyo blush before this is done?

"What you did last night, with your mouth," Kyuzo says. Katsushiro cannot imagine what Kyuzo is referring to but he's flooded with a wild thrill. "Would you... help me do that for him?"

"Oh," Kikuchiyo says, eyes going wide. " _Yes._ Yes. Here -"

He keeps one arm around Kyuzo's waist and pushes Katsushiro against the wall, not hard, with the other. "Stay put," he says. Then he puts both arms around Kyuzo's chest - Katsushiro can see the care he's taking to keep from putting pressure on Kyuzo's wound - and says, "Here, kneel. I've got you."

Kikuchiyo was shot too; Katsushiro marvels at his strength as he guides Kyuzo down to his knees, lets Kyuzo rest against him and holds him up. Instinctively, Katsushiro puts his hand to Kyuzo's smooth, shining hair, strokes it - he's done so in his imagination too many times to stop himself. 

Kyuzo's eyelids flutter. Katsushiro is desperately hard.

They learn this, Kyuzo and Kikuchiyo, as Kyuzo opens Katsushiro's clothing. He's deeply self-conscious, exposed to the air and their eyes, and it gets much worse when Kikuchiyo whistles.

"Oh," Kyuzo says. "He's bigger than you."

Katsushiro would laugh if he weren't acutely embarrassed.

"I'm not even jealous," Kikichiyo says, his eyes sweeping up to Katsushiro's face, then back down. "I'm impressed. Going to be a little tough on you, though..."

"Wh--" Katsushiro says -

And then they're shifting, Kikuchiyo helping Kyuzo lean in closer, saying, "Get him wet with your tongue first, makes it easier," and - _oh_ -

He can't look. He leans back, head bumping the wall. It's so much. 

Kikuchiyo has a light grip on his cock, lifting it so Kyuzo can - can lick him -

If he looks at them he'll come now, all over Kyuzo's face and - that thought actually makes him even harder but it would be so terribly rude -

"Hey. You're missing the good part," Kikuchiyo says, flicking Katsushiro's thigh with a finger, just as Kyuzo's lips admit the head of his cock.

The first time Katsushiro saw the two of them together, he learned how preternaturally sensitive Kyuzo is to the small changes in mood and motion that turn into violence. Kikuchiyo is the same, it turns out, with - this. He catches Katsushiro's hip and pins him to the wall just in time to stop him from losing control and thrusting into Kyuzo's mouth.

"Tch," Kikuchiyo says. "Not yet."

He kisses Kyuzo's neck, whispers in his ear, strokes his lips where they're stretched around Katsushiro's cock. "There," he says, "relax - good - all right. Hold still."

His hand comes up then, circles Katsushiro's shaft and tugs very lightly. " _Now_ move. _Careful._ "

Gratefully, Katsushiro lets Kikuchiyo guide him, in, out, just a little, Kyuzo kneeling before him with his small hands resting gently on Katsushiro's thighs. His cheeks are very red. His mouth is sweet.

With his free hand, Kikuchiyo is pulling the too-large kimono down off Kyuzo's slim, graceful shoulders, caressing the skin he bares, groping between his legs -

Kyuzo's back arches a little - Katsushiro comes with a high, small wail.

When it's over, Kyuzo pulls back, gently, and Katsushiro slides down the wall, staring as Kikuchiyo turns Kyuzo's head so he can kiss his shiny-wet lips. They're more beautiful than Katsushiro's most beautiful dreams.

“Open,” Kikuchiyo says, then slips two fingers into Kyuzo’s mouth, draws them out, dripping - oh, it’s - oh.

Kyuzo’s eyes flutter shut, he tips his head back against Kikuchiyo, who holds him with one hand against his chest, above the bandages, the other wrapping around his cock.

“You feel so good, Kyuzo. Did you know? How good you feel?”

Kyuzo makes a quiet noise, like a whimper.

“Katsushiro, touch him. He’s perfect.”

Katsushiro, flushed all over again, leans forward, tries to figure out how to fit his hand around Kyuzo, overlapping with Kikuchiyo. It’s like touching himself but in reverse, and wet, with another hand there, and Kikuchiyo laughs at him.

“Is this - right?” 

“Mmm,” Kyuzo nods, eyes unfocused.

“A little faster,” Kikuchiyo says, “he’s so close, aren’t you?”

“Oh,” Katsushiro says. “Oh. You liked - doing that - for me?”

Kyuzo’s lips part and he nods. Katsushiro watches the tension build in his face, feels it under his fingers - it feels like nothing else, he feels powerful and vulnerable at once. 

There’s a moment when Kyuzo looks - fragile, as if the wrong touch, the wrong breath from them, and he’ll shatter. He’s so small in Kikuchiyo’s arms.

Then he comes with a little cry, and sags, held up still by Kikuchiyo, who croons a litany of compliments to them both.

Katsushiro stares at his hand, which is covered in come, which made Kyuzo come. It seems impossible.

“Your face,” Kikuchiyo laughs, and rubs his nose into Kyuzo’s hair. “He’s as pretty as you are handsome,” he whispers. 

“Oh, but, you are both,” Katsushiro says. “You are beautiful, Kikuchiyo.”

“Isn’t he?” Kyuzo grins.

“Shut up, both of you.” Now Kikuchiyo blushes, face and chest glowing with it. He draws Kyuzo back to rest on the tatami, gestures Katsushiro to join them. 

He presses himself to Kikuchiyo’s back, tugging his kimono down to kiss his red neck and wide shoulders. “Beautiful,” he says, again.

“I’m not beautiful, I’m very frightening to look at, like a great and powerful oni.”

Kyuzo undoes Kikuchiyo’s belt, tries to roll onto his side, but stops, face creased with pain.

“Lie back,” Kikuchiyo says, gently. 

Kyuzo does, but says, “Katsushiro,” like an order, and Katsushiro wants to obey.

He reaches around and down - Kikuchiyo’s already holding his own cock, but he relinquishes it. Katsushiro rubs Kyuzo’s come up and down his length, listening to Kikuchiyo’s breath catch, watching the emotion reflected in Kyuzo’s eyes. 

Kikuchiyo stretches and breathes a great, shaking breath out as he comes, warm and wet, spilling beyond Katsushiro’s hand. 

“Oh,” Kyuzo says, softly. 

Kikuchiyo sighs, leans forward and presses his face to Kyuzo’s shoulder, reaching behind himself to hold Katsushiro’s hip.

“Stay,” Kikuchiyo says, voice muffled. “Stay with us.”

“Yes,” Katsushiro says, uncertain whether he means tonight or forever.

“But first, get the washcloth.”

“Oh, yes!” He gets to his feet, staggering a little, and scoops the cloth up, his hakama falling off. 

He sits beside Kyuzo, cleans off his own hand, Kyuzo’s thigh. Kikuchiyo takes the cloth from him, wipes Kyuzo’s cock, and his own. 

Kyuzo catches Katsushiro’s wrist, and Kikuchiyo’s, raises their hands together to his mouth, holds them against his open lips.

Katsushiro is overcome with emotion.

"He was a virgin before I got to him, you know," Kikuchiyo says proudly.

"Gloating is undignified," Kyuzo says, letting them go.

"But think about that, Katsushiro. Nobody has ever touched him but us." Kikuchiyo slides his fingers along Kyuzo’s collarbone. Katsushiro thinks about it, and feels terribly sad. He kisses Kyuzo's temple.

"We'll have to make up for all that lost time, then," he says earnestly.

Kyuzo looks up at him - are his lashes a little wet? Then he turns his head away, sucking in a breath and holding it, eyes squeezed shut. "Oh, no," Katsushiro says, "are you in pain?"

"Yes," Kyuzo says, after another harsh, arrhythmic breath. "But... it will get better, I think."

***

Kyuzo is at peace. It is an unfamiliar sensation. His eyes are closed. Kikuchiyo and Katsushiro lie on either side of him.

“What did you come over here in the rain for anyway?”

“I…” The silence is long, Katsushiro hiding his face in the juncture of Kyuzo’s neck and shoulder. “I was going to tell you both that I was planning on returning to my family,” he says at last, very softly.

Kyuzo stops breathing. 

“What, right now?” Kikuchiyo says.

“No! Not - anymore.” He takes in air again, his heartbeat slows.

“Huh. Hear that, Kyuzo? He was leaving.”

“I thought you had - chosen each other! I did not want to interfere! Like you - when he kissed me, you were going to leave!”

“Well, sure. Turns out this one is a real pervert. Three men together? How’d he come up with that?”

“Why not?” Kyuzo asks, without opening his eyes. “Life is short.”

Kikuchiyo laughs, his breath puffing against Kyuzo’s neck. It is not like being cut. It is like being held.

“Yours will _not_ be,” Katsushiro says fiercely. For an instant, Kyuzo is terribly afraid. Of what, he does not know. 

Then Kikuchiyo says, “Oh, Kyuzo, our pretty little bird has talons,” drawing them closer into his muscular arms, and it passes.

He is at peace. To listen to the rain, be warmed by these bodies that a week ago he would not allow himself to imagine. It is a good day.

They will have to make decisions in the coming days, plan for the time they are healed and more a burden on this village than a benefit. 

They have time, yet.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [A temporary shelter - illustration](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27365134) by [Nodzomi941](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nodzomi941/pseuds/Nodzomi941)




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